Old Times
No map. No upgrade. No goddamn app. In Old Times, just a blink ago, you stumbled, you hesitated, you failed, you lost time, you ran in circles and returned at least twice. And it meant something. It was nice. Then came these charts, these metrics these goals, this bullshit. The Humane stumble was straightened. Art of getting lost — forgotten. The quiet joy of not knowing was no more. But once— in Old Times, you simply lived, without proof.
©Samia Oldman
My poetry is free and public, powered by Dark Roast and occasional Red Wine.
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CONTEXT
After the Great Optimisation a privileged group of people wired themselves tightly into the system by aligning with it and fully integrating. Systoics believe they’ve perfected themselves by stripping away everything that slows them down.
ABOUT
This standalone poem is a fragment of my dystopian fantasy collection The Hush Halo, where poetry, soundscapes, and visual art converge into one unfolding tale.
I AM SAMIA 👋
This is just one piece of the puzzle. Feel free to learn about My Why and My How.
Sweet!
“The quiet joy
of not knowing
was no more.
But once—
in Old Times,
you simply lived,
without proof.”
Yess a world without answers. I miss that so much. I have tried many times to write about that, and I can’t. I thought you put it beautifully here. Well done.